


Then Comes a Stillness

by cynical21



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2055681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical21/pseuds/cynical21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reflections on the end of all familiar things</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then Comes a Stillness

Title: Then Comes a Stillness

 

Disclaimer: All things Star Wars are the exclusive property of the Master - GL. I only dabble - and make no money in the process.

 

What the mind cannot conceive,  
What the soul cannot encompass,  
What clutches the heart with razor claws  
And leaves it shredded and bleeding,  
The spirit simply endures.  
Through tragedy and desolation and despair,  
Through the agony of loss and bloody carnage,  
While all else falters and falls,  
It stands, by virtue of will and determination.  
It endures the unendurable -  
The obliteration of faith, the destruction of hope,  
The devastation of trust betrayed.  
Until it happens, one unremarkable day,  
Usually much like any other, a moment rises,  
A single moment to contain some small event -  
As small as the fading smile of a child  
Or the fall of a single teardrop -  
Which gives birth to the last, inevitable consequence.  
Then comes a stillness,  
So profound, so complete, so elemental,  
That it becomes the death of all sound -  
Of laughter and weeping, of joy, of life.  
It is the heartbeat that never happens,  
The greeting that is never spoken,  
The farewell that remains forever wordless.  
There is, then, a single pulse of brilliance -  
So bright it strikes the mind's eye blind -  
Before it fades to gray,  
As the spirit, too weary to continue, stumbles once,  
And crumbles into ashes -  
Becoming, finally, only a pale dust upon the wind. 

\-- Where Mourning Is -- Sch'Kyla of Ord Mantell

 

The _Tantive_ maintained a polar orbit around the moon of D'Umbrea; the moon itself was no more than a rough crescent-shaped planetoid, tumbling eternally around a dying gas giant, the tandem pair, locked in their eternal waltz, skirting a field of broken asteroids and cometary fragments, rubble from a vanquished solar system that had flourished in the dim marches of prehistory - before the rise of the Jedi, before the Sith, and before the violent death throes of the supernova that had destroyed everything within the grasp of its fiery embrace.

It was a desolate region of space, far off the beaten path, parsecs away from civilization - and even farther from the long reach of the Republic. 

Only it wasn't the Republic any more, and Bail Organa was having a difficult time wrapping his mind around that reality.

_So this is how liberty dies, with thunderous applause._

The Crown Prince of Alderaan closed his eyes against the anguish that surged within his heart, as painfully sharp memory stirred in his mind. The image and the voice would forever accompany his recollection of the birth of the Galactic Empire and the coronation of its perpetual sovereign.

_How could things change so quickly and so irretrievably?_

The Jedi Temple was nothing more than a smoking ruin; the Republic was dead, and so was the vibrant young woman who had spoken so poignantly from her heart. She lay now in a stasis chamber in the ship's medical bay, refused, even in death, the peace her wounded spirit had so desired. The med droids labored, even now, to preserve the illusion of a pregnancy never brought to completion, so the people of Naboo would mourn not only the loss of a beloved daughter, but the unborn child who would appear to have died with her.

It was an act of great cruelty, thought the Prince, especially toward the family who would be so devastated by her loss. But there was no other way.

The Jedi were right, no matter how heartless the decision might seem to those who would never understand it. The Sith must never know of the existence of the children of Anakin Skywalker. The fiction must be maintained that the bloodline had died with him, in order to preserve any slight hope for the future.

Bail looked down at the exquisitely lovely face of the infant he cradled in his arms and smiled, observing that she was very tiny and very fragile to bear any portion of such a heavy burden. Then his smile dimmed, as he realized that his would be the hand that must guide her toward a destiny that might very well hold little of joy or peace or hope.

Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker: the last - indeed the only - hope for the rebirth of the Jedi. Had it not been so deadly serious, it might have been ludicrous.

He looked up then, and met the eyes of young Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, who embodied a perfect image of fabled Jedi serenity against the spectacular backdrop of the starscape. Cradled against his chest was the second twin, eyes wide and fixed on the face of the young man who held him so gently. Something sparked to life between the two men at that moment, something impossible to define or understand, but very real, nonetheless.

And between them, perched on a low stool, Master Yoda - the eldest and most honored of all Jedi - cleared his throat noisily and turned his head from side-to-side, his expression grave. "Difficult is the task before you," he said softly, for once abandoning his customary twisted syntax in favor of clarity. "Constantly on guard, you must be."

"Yes, Master Yoda," replied Prince Organa automatically, once more staring down into the face of his foster daughter, not realizing that he was broadcasting a depth of love and devotion that was seldom equaled, even among natural parents. He had made a silent pledge as he watched the life drain from the spent body of Padmé Naberrie; he would buy the safety of this precious child with his own life, if need be, and it required no Force gifts for him to realize that Kenobi would do the same for the boy. Although . . . 

Something was not quite the way it should be, but the Prince did not possess the requisite empathic abilities to diagnose the problem. Still, he felt that he should . . .

"Your Highness," said a young bridge officer who appeared in the open doorway, obviously reluctant to impose on the moment.

"Yes, Borrlo. What is it?"

"The crew chief reports that the _Aerias_ will be ready for launch in another hour, My Lord. They had to replace the fuel line, and . . ."

"Yes? Go on." Bail was trying not to exhibit a growing impatience with the young officer's diffidence.

"Sorry, Sir, but the chief reports that the ride will not be . . ."

"Not be what?"

"Up to your lordship's standards of comfort, Sir. He advises that it will be a bit on the rough side."

Again, Bail turned to meet Obi-Wan's gaze and exchange small smiles. "Please inform your chief," said the young Jedi Master, "that it will do perfectly well. It is not meant, after all, to transport a royal personage."

The young officer nodded and made a quick exit, leaving the two human males to their soft laughter. Bail was first to fall silent, his eyes drifting to the tiny figure clasped in Obi-Wan's arms. "Come to think of it, that statement might not be completely accurate. His blood may not be royal, in the classic sense, but . . ."

A touch of sadness - old and worn and familiar - touched the younger Jedi's features, but it was gone so quickly the Prince wondered if he might have imagined it. "It will be fine," Obi-Wan replied, his forefinger clasped tightly in the grip of the wide-eyed baby who seemed utterly enthralled by the shadowed eyes looking down at him. "He'll need to learn, early on, that his won't be a life of ease or luxury."

"He seems content with you," observed Bail gently. "Are you sure you don't want to . . ."

"I'm sure." Clipped, cold - relentless. Completely out of character given the gentle courtesy typical of the young Master.

"Of course," agreed Bail, knowing that there was more to the story than he understood, but realizing, at the same time, that it was not his place to delve further.

Obi-Wan turned then to gaze out into the swirl of the galaxy, where a distant comet speared the darkness with a fan of radiance. "If you don't mind, Master, I'd like to spend a few moments in meditation. To center myself."

Yoda, for just a moment, seemed to waver on the brink of argument, but, in the end, he merely nodded, and watched in silence as his young companion moved away and stepped out into a small observation pod at the rear of the cabin, closing the transparaluminum hatch behind him.

Bail, once more lost in admiration of the beauty of his daughter, was surprised to hear a sigh issue from the tiny Master. One did not ordinarily expect even such a restrained display of emotion from such a venerable Jedi.

"Master Yoda, I don't mean to pry," said the Prince softly, "but . . ." He paused then, as he found that he could not quite find the words to express his concerns.

"Earned the right to ask, you have, Your Highness," answered the Jedi. "By your actions, safe haven, you have provided for all that remains of the Jedi Order. Answer your questions, I will - if I can."

"Very well," said Bail, preparing to take advantage of the opportunity being offered, even if he was not entirely certain he agreed with the premise. "Young Master Kenobi seems . . . lost, somehow. More lost - more shattered - than you. Forgive me, but is it just that he is younger, weaker - less skilled in . . ."

Yoda raised one peremptory hand, and it was easy to determine that - attempting to project humility or not - certain assumptions he was not prepared to allow. "Few, indeed, are those with more strength than young Obi-Wan, or more beloved of the Force. No accident is it that he survives when most others do not."

Bail stared into the twilit enclosure where the younger Jedi knelt, the child still clasped in his arms. "Then - I'm sorry, Master, but I don't understand. Why is he so . . ."

"Devastated?" The ancient Master's voice was barely audible.

"Yes."

"The Force," answered Yoda, speaking almost as if to himself, "demands much of those it loves. Of Obi-Wan, it has demanded all that he is - all that he has. More than any of us, he has given, and more yet, it will demand of him."

"But that doesn't make sense," the Prince observed, his confusion obvious in sable eyes. "If it loves him so much, why would it . . ."

"Because he has the strength to endure it," came the answer, heavy with sadness. "Others might bend, or break, or cringe away from truth. But he will go on, as he must. He will do his duty, regardless of what it costs him."

Bail looked down once more and gave silent thanks for the existence of the child he cradled, and wondered what would befall the brother she might never know. "And what has it cost him, Master? I know it has taken everything from him - that his life, as he knows it, is over. But there's something else, isn't there?"

For a while, there was only silence, and the Prince began to think he would get no response. But it came, at last, and, when it did, he almost wished that he had not asked.

"Believes, he does, that it is all his fault. That it all happened, because of his failures."

Bail drew a deep breath, and pondered the Master's words, and came to realize that there was a question that must be asked, no matter how much he hated to ask it. "Is he right? Was it his fault?"

Yoda sighed and lifted eyes bright with unshed tears to meet the gaze of the Alderaani prince. "No. His fault, it was not. The only hope of avoiding the rise of darkness, he was. But see that, he does not. In the end, nothing could be done. Misread was the prophecy that led us to this devastation, but not by Obi-Wan. Everything that he _could_ do, he did, but believe it, he will not. Blame himself, he does, and he always will."

The Prince closed his eyes against the sting of tears. He had known Jedi Kenobi for many years, and they had shared a casual friendship during that time, built upon mutual respect and admiration. He found it painful to contemplate the degree of anguish the young knight must now be enduring.

"That still doesn't tell me why - why he feels that way."

The tiny Master rose from his stool, and walked toward the hatch through which young Kenobi was just visible as a shadow against the panorama of the stars. "Started long ago, it did, with the death of his Master. Blamed himself for that, he always did, and now, also for the fall of his apprentice. Neither could he have avoided, but see that truth, he will not."

"But surely, Master, if you confront him, if you show him that he's wrong, he will listen and believe you. You're the quintessential Jedi, the source of Jedi wisdom. Surely . . ."

"Tell him, I can," replied the tiny Master. "Lecture him, berate him, demand that he listen. But force him to believe - that I cannot do. Stubborn, he is, and stubborn, he will remain. There may, perhaps, be one who can make him believe, but possible, it is that he will refuse to listen, even to the voice that rises from the Force. Carry the universe on his shoulders, he always has. Too late, it may be, to expect him to put it down now."

"And that's why he refuses to be a father to the boy," said Bail, suddenly understanding more about the conflict that the young Master was enduring. "He believes that he's . . ."

"Unworthy," said Master Yoda, completing the thought. "Yes, and he also fears that he might lead the Sith to the child, if he stays too close. A legitimate concern, it is, and he knows it. Better, perhaps, for him to linger at a distance."

Bail sighed. "But Master, he'll be so alone. So very alone."

The tiny Master echoed the Prince's exhalation. "Alone, he has always been, Senator. Even in a crowd, alone, he remained. Now, there is a chance that he might find solace, but only if he seeks it. And know, I do not, if he still can."

Bail Organa cuddled his new baby, and felt a deep, abiding joy when she opened dark eyes and stared up at him. His heart swelled within him as he realized that, even in the shadow of the tragedy which had destroyed the republic to which he had dedicated his life, he had found something to cling to - something to cherish.

He wished others had been as fortunate.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Time was growing short, he realized, as his eyes traced the path of the distant comet across the face of a gaseous nebula, where pulsing masses of scarlet and emerald and cobalt blue scrawled smears of brilliance against the ebony of space. It was a sight so beautiful, so overwhelming, it should have filled his soul with wonder, but there was no wonder left in him. No poetry, either, despite the fact that his Master had once dubbed him his 'little padawan poet'. Poetry required the existence of a spirit that could be awed by the spectrum of possibility. He had not been awed - by anything - in a very long time; he suspected he no longer had the capacity.

Except . . .

He looked down at the delicate face of the baby in his arms, and felt something stir within him, deeper than he would have liked. The features were still baby-soft, basically unformed. Still generic, though exquisitely beautiful. He should not have been able to discern the pattern that the tiny face would assume; it should have been too soon. But 'should have been' had little meaning here. Clearly, unmistakably, he saw Anakin's face in the baby's bone structure, and the image was like a blade in his heart.

He traced the tiny chin with a gentle finger, and smiled when the infant turned to nuzzle at his fingertip, closing deep blue eyes and emitting a soft murmur of contentment. He remembered being told that all human babies are born with blue eyes - that the color is actually indeterminate at birth. But, in this case, he knew that the color was no accident. Luke Skywalker would have his father's eyes, the kind of eyes that could stare into a person's soul and examine the deepest, darkest secrets of the heart.

He did not plan to get close enough to allow that kind of interaction; his soul was not up to an up close and personal examination.

He looked up, and stared once more into the starscape and remembered the curious knot that had formed in his gut when Master Yoda had made his unexpected announcement.

_My new Master - and your old one._

Had the venerable Jedi realized that his revelation had been, at best, anti-climactic? Had he sensed the subdued reaction beneath his young companion's superficial response?

Probably. Even in the extreme chaos generated by the events of the last few days, little would escape the grand Master's notice.

_I wanted to laugh, almost did laugh. After all this time, to get a confirmation of something I had always suspected. I can only reflect that I should have known. And maybe I did know; like so many other things, maybe I simply didn't want to face it._

_But there is one truth that I cannot evade, no matter how much I might want to. From the beginning, it is certain that Anakin knew. And I know that, because he tried to tell me often enough, insisting that Qui-Gon spoke to him, offered him guidance and comfort and warmth and praise. I, of course, chided him for an over-active imagination, but I think it likely now that I always knew the truth of it; it was just easier to deny it. If I had accepted his claims, I would have been forced to examine the meaning behind them: that Master Jinn had chosen to find a way to reach out and touch the child who was meant to be his greatest accomplishment, the padawan he should have had - the boy who had managed to claim his heart in the space of a few days._

_I had spent twelve years at his side and never once touched the man beneath the Jedi Master image._

_He had come back to watch over Anakin, to protect him and shelter him and offer him words of wisdom. It was appropriate for the Chosen One._

_It was equally appropriate that he had never spoken a single word to me._

_And I must now confess my own shameful truth; I was content with his silence._

_I never wanted to hear what I knew he would have said to me, or to see that look in his eyes. I had seen it often enough when he was alive - the disappointment, the cold disillusion, the grim resignation and acknowledgement that his clumsy student would never be worthy of his teachings._

_But now, it seems that I will finally be forced to confront my own demons. I feel as if I've been running for the last thirteen years, only to find that there's no place left to go._

_Truth is patient, it seems; it was content to wait for me._

_The old, original truth will be the first for which I must answer - the truth of Naboo, of my failure to do my duty. My Master died there, because I was not fast enough, nor skilled enough, nor strong enough to save him._

_He died in my arms, as I promised him that I would train Anakin; implied in that vow was the pledge to hold his chosen child in the Light, to guide him as Qui-Gon would have, to set him on the path he was meant to take._

_The second deadly truth: I did none of those things. Again, I was neither strong enough nor skilled enough, and my padawan is lost, as the Jedi are lost, and, while it is true that it was the Sith who struck the deadly blow, it was my failure that made it possible, that left us vulnerable to his treachery._

_And now - the final truth. Does Master Yoda know yet? I'm not sure, as my connection to the Force is uncertain. But it hardly matters, as it changes nothing. I want to recoil from the knowledge, to refuse to accept it, but my denial would not render it less true. Anakin lives; the bond between us, that I believed severed and destroyed, flared back into existence, and I am conscious once more of the beat of his heart, the dark thread of his awareness. He is no longer the Anakin I knew; he is Vader now, but he lives._

_I could have killed him - should have killed him - and found myself unable to strike the fatal blow._

_My final failure._

_When I try to contemplate the depth of the disaster I have caused, it's beyond my ability to conceive._

_When I stand before my Master's image and see the horror and contempt in his eyes, what do I say? How does one apologize for bringing about the end of all things?_

_I have no answers._

_Only one thing seems obvious to me now; early on, I allowed myself to believe in many things. I believed that I was wise enough to be a Jedi; that the actions I took were Force-guided; that I was loved by my Master and my padawan; that I had earned my place among my Jedi brothers; that I lived in the Light._

_I look down into the face of the child who may, one day, find some way to undo the terrible consequences of my failures, and I remember his mother's dying words. "There is still good in him," she whispered with her last breath._

_Was she right? I don't know. There is nothing left in me that can form an opinion._

_For it seems that I have, belatedly, learned one very important lesson, which I will carry with me every day for the rest of my life._

_I will face my Master, and accept his stern judgment, offering no defense for my actions; there is no avoiding it now. I will learn whatever lesson he has left to teach me. I will follow Master Yoda's instructions, and I will do my duty, as I know nothing else._

_I will safeguard this precious child, watch over him and protect him, and do whatever must be done to enable him to grow to manhood, and, when the time is right, I will provide whatever guidance and training I am able to give, and set him on the path he is meant to take._

_I will continue to exist through the long, lonely years; I will endure what I must._

_I will function, but I will believe no more._

 

FINIS


End file.
